Grey Matter
by ODST 357
Summary: About a marine fighting for the UNSC against the covenant, post Halo but pre Halo 2. Please review!
1. Chapter 1: Private Grey

Private Grey ran down the shell-shocked field toward a Covenant plasma turret. The turret was currently engaging a fleet of warthogs, so it had no reason to notice a lone marine running across the field. With a little luck, he would be able to take out the turret and save those hogs before the Covies noticed he was there. Unfortunately, when he dove for cover from a wraith's plasma ball into a crater, his pistol went off, the magnum round booming across the battlefield. "Shit." He muttered. Grey poked his head over the top of the crater, and three blue balls flew past his head. Ducking quickly, he grasped at his web belt and pulled a frag grenade out of it's pouch. "Eat this."

* * *

The Elite who was in charge of the gun emplacement saw the human duck into the hole and fired three shots at him half-heartedly. Then he turned back to directing the grunts manning the guns. The Jackal standing next to him squawked and the Elite whirled around to see a small green sphere hit the ground two feet away. The grenade ripped the Jackal, Elite, and two grunts busy setting up another turret to bloody shreds.

* * *

Grey grinned. Judging by the screams, the grenade had landed exactly where it was supposed to. He unslung his rocket launcher and stood up. The two remaining Shades turned to face him, but Grey had already fired his rockets, and ducked to shove another load in. Pieces of turret and Grunt flew everywhere, and he knew that nothing could have survived that. He slung his rocket launcher around his shoulder, and grabbed his pistol from his belt before clambering up onto the gutted turret emplacement. He went around and poked a few bodies, but nothing moved. Grey pulled a small UNSC battle standard from his field pack, and tied it to a piece of twisted metal sticking into the air. He was about to sheath his pistol, when something tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around, and a golden armored Elite roared an alien battle cry. Grey duck the first swing of the alien's sword, and fired three rounds from his pistol. They slammed into the Elite's shields, and Elite growled, before swinging his sword horizontally at Grey's waist. Grey kicked the alien in the torso, causing him to drop the sword. Before the Elite could recover, he fired five rounds into the Elite's chest, causing his shields to fail. The Elite pulled a plasma rifle from his belt and fired a burst at Grey, hitting him in the left arm, before Grey fired the last three rounds in the gun at the Elite's head. The magnum rounds did what they were supposed to, punching through the alien's helmet like rice paper. In a stream of rich purple blood, the Elite fell screaming to the ground.

Grey slipped a new clip into his pistol, and pulled his radio off of his belt. Since he was wearing a boonie hat, he had to carry his radio separately. "This is Private Grey. I've taken the Covenant turret redoubt. Killed an elite in hand to hand, and need medical assistance." "Roger that, warthog group gamma is en-route, they have a medic." "Thanks HQ."

Grey stuffed the radio back into it's pouch, and sat down on the dead elite to wait for the warthogs. He could see their dust clouds in the distance, and heard the occasional LAAG gunning down some unseen enemy. He gripped his pistol tightly, in case another alien should appear unannounced. The silhouettes of the warthogs grew steadily, and Grey stood and fired three shots into the air, announcing his presence to the marines in the warthogs.

The 'hogs pulled up a few minutes later, and Grey ran up to meet one. It was black with a yellow stripe down the hood, and sported a heavy SPNKR rocket launcher in place of the usual LAAG chain gun. The Lieutenant riding shotgun lowered his battle rifle and beckoned Grey over. "So you're the man who took this hill single-handedly?" he said. Grey nodded. "Yes sir, I guess I am." "Thanks a lot marine, you saved my platoon's asses when you took out those Shades. Our rocket launcher was low on ammo, thanks to an overeager wraith blowing up our supply 'hog, so I wasn't sure we'd be able to kill it. Until you came along. Colonel Dietrich tells me you killed an Elite in hand to hand combat? That's certainly something." Grey nodded. "Yes sir, the golden bastard popped out from under a dead body and almost gutted me with his sword." This left the Lieutenant wide-eyed. "It was a gold one?! With a sword? And you killed him? You're something else, let me tell you that. I'm recommending to Colonel Dietrich that you get a medal for this." "What sir?" The marine behind the wheel looked up in shock, as did the one manning the rocket launcher. "Well, for saving our platoon, and killing that elite single-handedly, that's what!" Grey looked at him incredulously. "But sir, that's my job." The Lieutenant just stared at him, like he was off his rocker. "So you're refusing a commendation for bravery?" "No sir, I'm just reminding the Lieutenant that it's the job of any marine to do, or at least to attempt to do, what I have done today." And with that, Grey saluted and walked off to see the medic.

* * *

Captain Vance walked into the outpatient room, toward the only occupied bed. "Well, Private…Grey. You seem to have banged up your arm pretty good. It'll be okay, and we'll have you home to REACH in no time. Grey looked up. "What?" Vance's grin faded slightly. "I said you're going home. As soon as we do a few more calcium injections, to replace the bone loss from where the plasma bolts cut into your arm. I'm surprised you're in this ward. Normally a plasma burst to the arm requires months of regrowth, but you've healed in less than a week. In fact, I remember-" "I don't wanna go home." Grey said. "Excuse me? Private, you've done your duty. Destroying a Covenant artillery battery single-handedly, and killing one of their field marshals; I assure you no one will think less of you if you accept a ticket home." "No, send someone else home. I saw someone in the next ward with a needler wound on his leg. Send him home, not me." Vance stepped back a few feet. "I'm afraid I can't do that. Sergeant Marshall's condition is such that he can still be used in his current duty, but if you can't hold a gun, you can't be in the marines Private." "You said it yourself. I healed faster than anyone you've ever seen before." Vance paused to process that. "Yes that's true, but there are still some more injections and other-" ""Fine, then do them. But don't send me home afterwards. Send me back to the line." Vance stated flatly. "I can't do that. You can't fire a gun." Grey rolled his eyes. "Look doc, make me a deal. After I'm done here, I go to a firing range, and have an instructor give me a complete re-examination of my weapons skills. If I don't get a perfect score on all of them, I'll go home, okay?" Vance thought about it. "Well…" "Look doc, what have you got to lose? If I go home, you completed a successful operation. If I go back to the line, than you completed a successful operation _and_ helped the UNSC's need for more soldiers." Vance shook Grey's hand. "Deal. But don't tell anyone about this, I could be court marshaled." "Okay doc." 

Vance walked away smiling again. There was no way that Grey would ever pass his weapons test with a perfect score in _all_ categories. So it was a win-win situation. He pushed open the door to the outpatient ward and walked down the hall toward the break room.

* * *

The target range was inside the base's armory, a double walled structure to prevent destruction due to accidental ordinance detonation. Corporal Grey (He had been promoted for taking the Covenant artillery post) walked down the halls of the vast armory, past rooms containing rows upon rows of BR-55 rifles, M-7 submachine guns, shotguns, SPNKR rocket launchers, S-2 sniper rifles, and various kinds of pistol all lined up neatly in stainless steel racks against the wall. He walked through a door marked **Target Range**, and emerged inside a gargantuan room with rows of trenches and weapons racks on the wall behind them. On the far side were various shaped targets, staggered at different distances and representing different things. Some were the standard red and white bulls-eye, some were human shaped for training MPs, but most of them were cardboard cutouts of various members of the covenant race, ranging from grunts to hunters (with the weak points in their armor marked in bright red) and even some drones hanging from the ceiling. Grey saw a handful of marines practicing their marksmanship, mostly against the hunter targets. The sniper boxes on the second floor were unoccupied. 

Grey walked over to the Sergeant in charge of the range. "Sir, Corporal Grey reporting for a complete re-examination of my marksmanship skills." The Sergeant grabbed a clipboard sitting on a shelf and flipped through the pages. "Grey, Grey, ah yes Corporal Grey! You're got the go-ahead to use this facility all week, and my aide will assist you in taking down your scores." Without looking up from his clipboard, he gestured absently to a man standing over a trench full of marines, yelling obscenities that would have made an ODST blush and occasionally swatting at them with a swagger stick. "Joy." Muttered Grey. "Hmm? Didn't catch that." The Sergeant said, flipping through some charts and marking down notes every so often. "Nothing sir. I'll be glad to have the assistance of-" "Sergeant Duncan." The man said. Setting down the clipboard, he cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, "Hey Duncan! Get your ass over here!" A look of disappointment flashed over Duncan's face, and he jogged over to the two men, swagger stick under his left arm. "Gunnery Sergeant Duncan, this is Corporal Grey. He is here to take a complete re-do of his weapons skills. And you'll be assisting him in that endeavor." Duncan moaned. "Aww Sarge, come on! The little war hero can do it himself!" he said, gesturing to the Navy Cross on Grey's uniform. The senior Sergeant's face turned red, and he wheeled around to face Duncan. "I gave you an order marine! You are to help this man complete his weapons testing, and then you are to report back to me with his scores! DO YOU GET ME?!?!?!" Duncan instinctively snapped to a salute. "Sir yes sir!" "Good! Now, take this chart and fill in his scores as he completes each course." Duncan grabbed the chart and led Grey to the pistol range, mumbling something about uppity Drill Instructors. A voice boomed from across the range. "Did I give you permission to bitch marine?" Duncan turned around to yell a reply. "Sir no sir!"

The pistol range was on the far side of the room, furthest from the door Grey had entered from. Duncan checked the clipboard. "All right Corporal, you nee to re-qualify with the M6C and M6D pistols. You'll find a rack of them on the wall, and some extra ammo in the bin to your right." Grey walked over to the wall, and grabbed one pistol from each rack. He marched back to the concrete barrier separating the firing pits from the target range itself, and flicked the safety off of the M6D. Grey assumed a three-point stance, and rapidly expended all 12 rounds in the weapons clip. He stepped back, and set the weapon down on the table in front of him. Duncan rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah, whatever." He said, slamming his fist on the button to bring the cardboard cutout within view. Grey had been using a hunter target, and every single shot had hit one of the red streaks marking a flap of exposed skin in a real hunter's armor. Duncan sighed and marked down a perfect score on his clipboard. Grey quickly repeated the feat with the M6C. By now Duncan was hefting the guns to see if Grey had cheated somehow. "All right Corporal, next up is the BR-55 range. Take a weapon from the rack in the back, there's extra ammo in the box to your right." Grey picked up a Battle Rifle, and grabbed two extra clips from the box. Duncan read something from his sheet. "Okay, you will expend one clip of ammunition standing and unzoomed, and then you will expend another clip prone and zoomed. Got that?" Grey nodded. He stepped up to the firing pit, and aimed his rifle at a bulls-eye nearby.

36 bullets later, their was one large hole in the bulls eye, and Grey was slapping in another clip for his prone test. He flicked the switch on the side of the rifle, and everything jumped forward several feet. Duncan was yelling at him to aim for the bulls-eye in front of him, and Grey shallowed his breathing, so as not to make the rifle jump from a deep breath. He fired off all twelve bursts in rapid succession, and when the gunpowder dissipated, he could see that all 36 bullets had landed inside the little circle. Grey pushed himself up from the dirt, and walked over to Duncan, who was shaking his head in amazement. "Uh, okay Corporal. Next is the shotgun course. You are to crawl through a ditch with four LAAGs firing over your head, and then destroy all of the targets at the end in less than a minute. Shotguns are against the wall, and extra ammo is in the bin to your right." Grey grabbed a shotgun, and took a small satchel of extra shells. Duncan waved him to a trench that had been liberally splashed with blood, and was filled with old ammo cases, discarded MA5Bs, the occasional helmet and even some mockups of covenant weaponry. All in all, a pretty accurate description of what a battlefield looks like. As soon as Grey's chin hit the mud, the LAAGs started pounding away overhead, and as he crawled through the mud, Grey was reminded of that time he was doing this exact same thing, except for real.


	2. Chapter 2: Memories Part 1

The time is a year ago, and Corporal Grey was a raw recruit who was still convinced a career in the UNSC's Marines could give him a secure and happy future, like the chiseled, grinning guys on the recruiting holos. He had passed the rigorous ODST training program, and was now a full fledged member. He had been assigned to a little frigate called the _Hiroshima_, and was due for R&R in a few months. Life was good for Private Grey. Then, it began to fall apart piece by piece.

* * *

"Mail call! Get 'em while they're hot!" Corporal Strom, Echo Company's clerk, walked into Private Grey's barracks clutching a large mailbag. "Hot off the presses, just came through the transceiver." He said, swatting at the scores of mail-hungry marines that had materialized around him to reach for his clipboard. "Hey guys, if I can't see my clipboard, you don't get your mail, all right? So please, stand back and let the master work." The marines stepped back a few feet. "Lets see, Anton, Baker, Emerson, Grey, Hitachi, Hutchinson, Jack, Lumberg, Mercer, Owens, Ross, Smith, Sanders, and Zeiba. That's all folks." The marines that had received a letter crowded forward to grab it, while a collective groan issued from the ones that had not gotten anything.

Grey grabbed his after everyone else, and lay down on his bunk to read it. "Hey, it's from my girlfriend!"

His best friend, Nick Owens, looked up from his letter and said, "Oh yeah? Mines from my mom, making sure I'm not dead She says she doesn't trust the UNSC to inform her on time, because, in her mind anyway, they have how many millions of people to look after, and the fact that I'm one of the few people in the goddamn Navy who can jump from a freakin' spaceship doesn't register, so she figures I'll just get lost in the shuffle if I-"

"I don't believe it." Grey moaned. Owens stared over his shoulder and managed to catch the words, "Think it would be best for the both of us. Jerry is a very nice guy." Before Grey tore the letter in half.

"Hey man, what'd you do that for?"

Grey's eyes glazed over. "It's a Dear John letter. It's a fucking Dear John letter! How could this happen?"

He jumped off his cot and opened his footlocker. Retrieving a lighter engraved with words _Death from Above_, the informal motto of the ODSTs and a gift from his parents when he shipped out, he held the paper out and flicked the switch on the side of the stainless steel shaft. A small flame jumped out and licked the edge of the paper, setting it ablaze in seconds. He dropped it to the deck and watched it burn, stamping it out with his boot when the flames got too large. Blackened paper flew everywhere, like tainted snow. Owens just sat there in disbelief. The whole thing had taken about ten seconds. He stared at his friend, not sure what to say. Grey leaned back as if nothing had happened and resumed what he had been doing before Strom came in with the mail, which was staring at the ceiling. Owens leaned over gingerly and spoke carefully.

"Hey man, wanna go down to the mess hall and grab something to eat? It's almost 0900."

A grin crept across Grey's face. "There ya go Nick, always thinking with your stomach. Sure, let's go grab a bite. I hear the special today is food." He sat up and pulled on an over shirt. Owens walked towards the bulkhead, but paused when he reaslized that Grey wasn't behind him.

"Hey man, come on!" he said, as he saw Grey putting on his pistol belt. "What do you need that for?"

Grey shook his head absently. "You never know man, you never know."

* * *

They arrived at the mess hall at around 0930 and got in line for what was left of breakfast. They grabbed trays and watched with disgust as the server plopped down some quivering khaki stuff onto their plates.

"What's your MOS, exterminator?" muttered Owens as he sat down and poked at his "food". The server sighed, and went back to plopping down food on people's trays. Grey had decided upon seeing his food that he was not going to touch it, but Owens seemed determined to find something edible on his tray. He poked at the shivering mass with his spork, and it stuck to the utensil and wouldn't let go. He shouted in surprise.

"Hey! My food's eating my spork!" Grey laughed.

"Nick, that's just spent fusion from the engines. Guaranteed to make you sick for a week. And let it have the spork, before it get's violent." Owens got up to throw the stuff away, and when he turned the tray upside down over the garbage can, the blob stuck to the tray like superglue.

"Hey, help me out here-" Owens began.

A shot rang out, and Grey put the smoking pistol back into his belt. The magnum round dug into the unholy mass and shook the tray enough that it dislodged itself and fell with a wet _thwap _into the trash can. Owens dropped the bent tray in there as well, and looked at Grey with a 'Did you really just do that?' look. Grey shrugged, and walked out of the mess hall.

* * *

Grey and Owens were walking down the corridor when red lights started flashing everywhere, and klaxons were blaring. "_Attention all personnel. Covenant ships sighted in the area. Battle stations. I repeat, battle stations. This is not a drill. All naval personnel to your posts, and all Marines prepare to repel boarders. I repeat-"_

The two marines were already sprinting down the corridor back towards the barracks. This attack had come as a surprise. The _Hiroshima_ was patrolling well inside the Inner Colony ring, and neither marine had expected much of anything to come out of this tour of duty, besides maybe a veteran pin for their Class-A's. But here they were, the klaxons blaring, the lights dimmed to vent power for the guns, Navy techs running this way and that, marines dashing around in full battle dress, and even a few warthogs roaring down some of the main corridors. Upon arrival at the barracks, they found their squad mates in various states of undress, rushing to pull on the signature black armor of the ODSTs. Grey slipped into his boots, snapping on the oversized greaves to protect his shins from high falls. The Kevlar body glove was attached to the boots, so he pulled it up his legs and paused the ascent to snap his web belt on around his waist. After slipping his arms through the corresponding holes, he groped for the matte black zipper somewhere at his waist; the damn things were always blending in with the body gloves. Once he was zipped up, he snapped a Velcro cover over the zipper to keep it from falling down in combat, then picked up the Titanium A vest and slipped it over his shoulders, snapping it to his armor via corresponding straps on the body gloves. Last of all, he grabbed his shoulder plates and helmet, strapping the plates on before locking his helmet in place. He pulled on his gloves, sealing them to the body glove, and heard a soft _hiss_ as his air tank began working to filter any toxins from the air. This would also provide his with 90 minutes of filtered air if he were to need to go in a non-pressurized environment. He turned and faced Owens, who was snapping on his helmet, and waited for him before walking over to their squad leader, Sgt. Banks. His mechanically filtered voice sounded vaguely mechanical.

"Sir, Private Owens and I have no weapons."

Banks turned to him, his helmet still not on yet. "Don't worry Private. We are all going to Armory B for a quick pick-me-up. Captain Kessel has given us first choice of anything we might find there. I understand you favor the shotgun?"

"Yes sir, kills them before they can nod hello."

Banks snapped his helmet on and nodded. "Excellent. It's always good to have a shotgunner in your squad. Tell Owens I would appreciate it greatly if he takes a BR-55. I know he has an affinity with the MA5Bs, but we need the 55's hitting power, especially in these close quarters."

"Yes sir. He's gonna be disappointed, you realize."

"That's not my concern Grey. Now get to it." Banks walked over to the comm unit on the wall and pinged the bridge. "Captain Kessel? Shocktrooper Squad Echo is prepped and ready. All we need is some guns sir." A stressed voice filtered through the speaker on the wall, laced with static. "Very good ---geant. Get your team to Armory B PDQ. We're getting our asses kicked here, and if I think that this ship is going to fall, I'm going to initiate the Cole Protocol and blow it to Hades. If such a situation arrives, I'll come over the P.A. and warn your team to get to their drop pods."

"Sir? We're not currently orbiting a planet. That won't work."

"It'll get you off this deathtrap. The pelicans are ---na bail too, so they'll pick you up."

"Gotcha sir."

"Kessel out."

Banks turned to his squad. "All right men, you heard the man! Haul ass to Armory B! The location is on your HUD for those of you who don't know every inch of this ship after being confined to it for eighteen months! Move out!"

The entire squad yelled, "Hoo rah!" as one and then ran out of the barracks, heading for the armory to defend a ship destined to die.

* * *

Okay, so I tried something a little different as the 1st (and only: hint hint) reviewer suggested. If you like it: tell me. If you don't: tell me. I must say however, that it certainly eats up pages. This chapter is 1,000 words less than Chapter 1, and it's shows up as more pages in Word. Oops. But I'm gonna be out of contact for a while anyway, so I wanted to post this so that the 45 potential readers could see what happens next. 


	3. Chapter 3: Memories Part 2

Okay, so I goofed. I forgot to refer to Grey as an ODST in the first chapter, but I fixed that in the second chapter. So if there are any questions, yes, he is an ODST, and just to avert any further confusion, I will use term "marine" and "ODST", along with their synonyms (such as Helljumper, Shocktrooper, etc.) interchangeably when referring to Grey and his buddies. Sorry about that, and enjoy the update.

* * *

The Shocktroopers ran towards the Armory, hell bent on getting there and getting armed before the Covenant boarders arrived in earnest. Grey had one hand on his pistol, hoping that he would not need to use it. After all, the armory was only a few corridors down, and the Covenant ship was still on the edge of the system, so there was no way they could get there before the marines had grabbed enough weapons to blow those unholy aliens to Hades. He looked over at Sergeant Banks, who's head was cocked in a way so as to betrayed the fact that he was talking to someone on a private COM line. Banks nodded, and tapped the side of his helmet to cut the COM line.

"All right Echo squad, listen up!" He said as the soldiers bolted down some random corridor, nearly trampling a pair of Navy techs trying to fix a broken P.A. speaker. A fruitless gesture, as the ship had been marked for death the moment the Covenant arrived in the system.

"The Captain says once we're armed, we are to get to drop pod bay C. Apparently, the Covenant ship just made an in-system jump, and is coming up along the side of us. Now, as you all are aware, one volley of their plasma torpedoes can gut us from stem to stern, so the Captain wants us to make a blind jump and save our skins. He's gonna scuttle the ship, so there is really no alternative. Once we get to the armory, I'll tell each of you what to grab, but for now, let's just focus on getting there."

The ODSTs made it to the armory a few minutes later, and there was a mad dash to grab whatever weapons they could.

"Hey Sarge, those damn grunts already stripped this place clean!" yelled a Corporal who was shocked to see the gleaming stainless steel racks, but not a gun in site.

Tapping Banks on the shoulder, Grey whispered "Sarge, what about the _other_ armory?"

Banks nodded, and turned to the loudmouthed soldier.

"Shut your trap, and I'll show you where _our_ guns are." Banks bellowed back. He walked over to a gun rack that was bolted to the wall, grabbed one side, and pulled. The rack peeled away like rice paper, and revealed a door with a keypad in place of a handle. Banks punched in the nine digit combination, and the door hissed aside, revealing an even bigger room crammed full of every kind of man portable offensive weapon the UNSC stamps it's name onto. Banks grabbed a battle rifle off of a rack of 20, and slipped a clip into it with a satisfying _clack_.

Owens stared open-mouthed at the display, although you couldn't tell because of his helmet. "What is this place Sarge?"

"It's a SPARTAN armory. They used this ship for Zero-Gee training a while back, and when it was converted to harbor us, they figured that they should just leave the armory in, in case something like this happened. Anyway Owens, even though they have MA5Bs and also a few MA2Bs, I want you on the 55." He tossed the rifle in his hands to Owens, who caught it and stared at it disappointedly.

"But Seerge…"

"DO IT!" Owens jumped back like a whipped dog, and grabbed a fistful of ammo cartridges from a bin against the wall. He stuffed them into his web belt, grumbling to himself.

Grey, meanwhile, was on the other side of the room, admiring the shotguns lined up against the wall. He grabbed one, and walked over to the ammo bin.

"What do you think Nick, slugs or shot?" he said, staring into the bin at the two different ammo types.

"We don't have time for this Grey." Banks barked. "Kessel's activating the Cole Protocol, remember? Take some of both, and let's get the hell out of here. Anton, take a rocket launcher. Hitachi, Zeiba, grab a 55. Baker, take an SMG. _Put_ that MA5B down Jackson, and grab a submachine gun. Emerson? Good, you've got a 55. No Mercer, you take a sniper rifle, the customization options are in the next room. Speaking of which, everyone grab a red dot sight for their guns, except Mercer and Anton. Sidearms get one too. I want you all to take Ds, not Cs. Magnum my ass. Carter, you take that .50 cal, and twin pistols. We'll need the turret once we hit the ground. Lumberg, you've got the Comm-Pack, so all you can take is an SMG, maybe an MA2B if you wanna."

"Hey!" yelled Owens. "How come he-"

"Cause he's got the radio Owens. Shut up, or I'll make you walk to wherever the hell we're going. Ross, you're Anton's loader, so grab as much ammo as you can carry. Likewise, Smith, spot for Mercer; take some binoculars and a satchel of clips. SMGs for you two. Sanders, you're Grey's backup, grab a shotgun, and follow his lead."

"Aww Sarge…"

"Newbs gotta learn somehow Grey. Show Sanders how to swap out his iron-sights for a red dot, and you two stick together." Banks paused, and exhaled deeply. "I've got a 55, so if everyone is ready, than lets go." The soldiers nodded their affirmations, and Banks led them out of the room.

"By the way men, you never saw this room. Got it?"

"Yes Sergeant!" the hell jumpers barked.

"All right, let's get the hell out of here."

The armor clad marines ran down the hall, toward Drop Pod Bay C. As they turned a hallway, a green ball of plasma shot past Grey's head and melted a Navy crewman behind them.

"Echo squad, eliminate with extreme prejudice!" yelled Sergeant Banks, dropping to one knee and putting three rounds through the skull of the overeager Jackal who had fired first. The rest of the squad followed suit, going prone or crouching, and firing back with whatever weapons they had. The three Jackals were paste in seconds. Banks waved his hand forward, and Hitachi, the squad pointman, inched forward. He stuck his head around the corner, and waved the rest of the squad up. Grey stood up, and ran up behind Hitachi, covering him with his shotgun. The squad took up a staggered formation, with Hitachi and Grey in front, and the rest of the squad behind them, two by two. They proceeded like that for five minutes, until Hitachi stopped, and held up his fist. Everyone else got down, until Hitachi nodded to himself and stepped forward to confirm his suspicion. From an open bulkhead, a glowing blue orb flew through the air. It melded with Hitachi's visor, and he started screaming.

"Ditch the helmet!" yelled Banks and Hitachi's hands scrambled up the neck seal on his armor, desperately trying to detach his helmet before the grenade exploded.

The squad watched in horror as the orb grew increasingly brighter, until it was almost white, and then, a red mush sprayed the corridor as the plasma grenade exploded, taking the life of Echo squad's pointman. When the glare settled, and the ODST's visors depolarized, all that was left of their fellow soldier was a bent and twisted BR-55, thrown free of the explosion's core when Hitachi threw his arms into the air, but still rendered useless when the blue flames washed over it and fused it together.

"Don't just stand there, there's an enemy in the-" Banks yelled.

Grey's shotgun barked twice, and steel pellets sprayed a slight shimmer in the air, which rapidly degraded and turned into the image of a howling elite. The pellets impacted against it's shields, sending a waves of light up and down it's body. It roared a challenge and pulled a metal tube off it's belt. With a flick of it's wrist, the tube shot forward into a plasma sword, and the elite lunged at Grey, who sidestepped and shot the elite in the back.

"Fire! Fire!" yelled Banks, snapping his rifle up to his shoulder and pumping bullets into the alien. The squad followed suit, and the alien screamed in pain as it's shields overloaded and 7.62mm rounds tore through it's body, spraying luminescent purple blood all over the ODST's matte black armor. Dropping to it's knee's, the alien swung it's sword half heartedly at Grey, cutting through part of his left greave, and then keeled over.

"Get back, those things have a fail-safe!" Banks said, holding his arms out and forcing everyone in the squad back down the way they came. Within seconds of them retreating down the corridor, the elite's body was consumed on a neon blue light, which slowly receded, leaving nothing behind.

"What the hell are you staring at? Haul ass to the drop bay! This ship won't wait around for us before it blows up!" Banks roared, thrusting his battle rifle into the air as a kind of rallying measure. The ODSTs let loose a loud "HOO RAH!!!" and continued the run toward the drop bay.

"Covenant!" yelled Anton, grasping for his sidearm. Grey looked up to see a covenant chokepoint set up, complete with shields and portable plasma turrets.

"Open fire!" yelled Banks, leveling his 55 at a turret manned by a grunt.

"They really don't want us to get off this ship." He muttered, unslinging his shotgun and dropping to his stomach. "Sanders! Get up here!"

The new recruit ran up to Grey and crouched to one knee. "Yeah, what is it?"

Grey grabbed the marine's web belt, and pulled him to the ground. Sanders hit the ground with a thud, and his shotgun went off, spraying pellets into the wall.

"What the hell was that for?" yelled Sanders, stretching his arms out in preparation to push himself up. Grey slapped him on the back with the butt of his rifle, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to drop to the floor again. Sanders moaned in protest, and a ball of plasma whizzed over his head, hitting Anton on the leg.

"AARRGHH!!!" he screamed, dropping to the floor and clutching his leg.

Sanders craned his neck to look over at Grey. "Jesus, thanks man. I had no idea…"

"Learn to look for that. Stick with me, you'll do all right." Grey said. He reached for a grenade on his webbing, and pulled the pin out.

"Grenade! It's live!" yelled Grey, rolling the sphere of death down the hall. A jackal sniper spotted it and squawked a warning to the elite in charge, but it was too late. The grenade tapped the base of a shield generator, and detonated, blowing the jackal to ribbons and ripping the elite's legs off, as well as disabling the shield generators.

Banks slapped a new clip into his rifle. "Nice work Grey! Baker! Jackson! Police that wreckage! Lumberg, bandage Anton's leg."

* * *

Jackson ran up to the covenant position, Baker in tow, and snapped his rifle up to his shoulder. "I'll take the elite. You poke around and see who else needs some extra iron in their diet." He said, bravado dripping off of every syllable. Baker nodded, and moved past him. The elite was now struggling to get up, the shock of the blast wearing off and the shock of the massive blood loss not yet set in. Jackson watched it's hand scrabble around for it's plasma rifle, and when it's fingers closed around the grip, Jackson stamped his boot down on the gun, crushing the elite's fingers. It howled in pain, and Jackson grinned under his helmet as it's other hand started moving, the first one obviously broken. Alas, the elite could not find a second weapon, and Jackson, suddenly remembering that the ship was a finite thing, leveled his rifle at the elite's head. Three bullets later, one of the Covenant's mightiest warriors was only a twitchy half-corpse on the bloodstained deck of a UNSC battlecruiser.

A string of SMG fire echoed across the hall, and Jackson look up to see Baker executing two Jackals that he had lined up against the wall.

* * *

Banks knew it wasn't the best idea to send those two in to clear a zone of enemy, they had a habit of prolonging the inevitable for enemy POWs. When the UNSC's first inner colony had begun to fall, they naturally pooled all of their resources to save it. This included a massive ODST drop from the then-experimental HEVs, or Human Entry Vehicles. Jackson and Baker had deployed from the UNSC Carrier _Leviathan_, part of an effort to reinforce the Marine HQ down there. But something had gone wrong. Maybe it was enemy sabotage. Maybe it was the fact that the _Leviathan's_ techs were unfamiliar with HEV's at the time. Or maybe the Mark I prototypes just didn't work. Whatever the case, all but two of those HEV's failed to deploy their chutes, sending a battalion of the UNSC's finest to a fiery grave on the surface of Jericho VII. Baker and Jackson met up with the Marine HQ on the surface, and lived through the Covenant assault on the command post, fending off Banshees, Wraiths, Ghosts, "Tuning Fork" dropships, and waves of covenant troops, long enough for General Dirk, the man in charge of all UNSC ground forces, to make it out on the last Pelican. As for them, they stole a pair of Banshees and linked up with a Repair and Refit platform, the _Cradle_. Apparently, that ship later bought it at Sigma Octanus. Jackson earned a silver star for forcing the dropship's pilot to wait until General Dirk could make it to the landing pad, and Baker earned the Medal of Honor for single handedly killing three wraith tanks that would have destroyed the fleet of evacuation Pelicans before they had a chance to take flight. They both got bronze stars for giving up their seats on the last Pelican to a pair of civilians who's private craft had been destroyed, and were therefore not earmarked for evacuation because they owned space worthy transport.

So, as far Banks was concerned, if they wanted to make the Covies suffer a little bit, that was fine with him, but not when it held up the rest of them on the deathtrap that this ship had become.

"All right boys, that's enough! Let's go!" Banks hollered to the pair of ODSTs down the hall. They looked up and stared at him hollow eyed.

"You heard me Jackson! We don't exactly have all of the time in the world here!" he yelled. Their shoulders drooped as they nodded and walked back to where the squad was hiding.

"Area secure sir. All hostiles have been eliminated." Baker muttered, slinging his SMG over his shoulder.

"All right men! Saddle up!" yelled Banks, waving his hand down the hallway. Echo squad followed him down yet another gore stained hallway, rifles at the ready, eyes open for Covenant boarders.

The next ten minutes were uneventful, as they proceeded from the fuel rod storage area where Hitachi had been killed to the very bottom of the ship, only coming across the occasional trio of grunts, or duo of jackals.

They finally reached a set of steel doors with the words 'Drop Bay C: Authorized Personnel Only' stenciled on it. Banks walked up and pressed the large green button beside the door, causing them to open with a _hiss_.

"Echo Squad to Bridge. We have reached Drop Bay C and are preparing to jump." Banks said into his mike. The reply came back not through Banks' helmet, but through the ships badly damaged P.A. system. "Bridge -o Echo Squa-. -ou are order-- to make a blind

-ump _now_! I rep---, Echo Squad, j--p _now_!" Then, to the rest of the ship, he said "Attention all crewmembers, I am initiating the Cole Protocol. The reactor will begin overloading once this announcement is complete, and then you will have ten minutes to abandon ship. All pilots are ordered to abandon ship when the clock reaches T-Minus 3:00, and proceed to the nearest UNSC held area. All lifeboats are to abandon ship when they have reached full capacity, or when the clock hits T-Minus 1:00. Pelican group Delta, please see that all ODST HEVs are picked up, and their occupants safely rescued. I will remain on the bridge for the entirety of the countdown. My escape craft is welcome to anyone who can get to it. The ten minutes are beginning now."

The lights in the room dimmed and klaxons descended from the ceiling, and the ship's AI started shrieking a prerecorded message.

"_ALL PERSONNEL! ABANDON SHIP! ALL PERSONNEL! ABANDON SHIP!"_

"That's our cue!" Banks shouted over the noise of the klaxons, "Everyone in their pods, skip the pre-flight check, there's no time! And leave your guns here, there are weapons in the pods" The soldiers ran to the rows of HEVs, doors open like so many mouths waiting to be fed. Grey climbed into his pod and grabbed at a leather strap hanging from the ceiling. He yanked it hard, and the door clanged shut. Grey grasped the restraints hanging limply from the side of the chair, and clapped the shut across his chest. Finally, he reached up and slapped a button on the side of the pod, bracing himself as the HEV dropped out of the _Hiroshima_ and into space.

* * *

Jesus, I'm sorry that took so long. I was sick for about a week with a viral sinus infection, and I couldn't get anything done. But here it is; chapter 3. And for those of you who haven't figured it out yet and think I'm nuts, this is a flashback. 


	4. Chapter 4: Spartan 017

Okay, enough of the flashbacks (for now). Back to the main story. Thanks for the positive review; keep em coming!

"Corporal Grey, are ya stupid?" bellowed a very annoyed Sergeant Duncan to the marine currently lying in the mud, who was, unbeknownst to him, caught in a PTSD induced flashback. He watched the man shake his head, and stare back and Duncan apologetically.

"Sorry sir!" Grey called back. "I was just…" he trailed off, not wanting to tell Duncan he'd spaced out long enough to re-live the _Hiroshima_. "Thinking about something."

"Great. Thinking time over. _Move your ass_ Grey, or you fail right now!!!" Duncan screamed, throwing his hands into the air and gesturing wildly. Grey double-timed it through the trench, the LAAGs ripping swathes of fire and peppering him with bits of brass as he crawled madly. Finally, he got to the end of the trench, and proceeded to reduce the targets there to so much raw plywood with a cool, calm efficiency. BOOM! A grunt was blown to shambles, sending shards of painted wood flying around haphazardly. BANG! An elite was shaved in half, leaving a pair of legs sticking out of the ground, surrounded by piles of wood.

Within 20 seconds, all 40 targets were eliminated. Grey stood up, and fired two rounds into the air, signaling his completion of the course. Duncan looked up, startled.

"How the…" he gasped, seeing a mud splattered Grey ankle deep in wooden shrapnel. Reluctantly, he pressed the button to turn off the LAAGs, and Grey ran back to him.

"So, did I pass?" he said, half-mockingly.

Gritting his teeth, Duncan made a large check mark next to the neatly stenciled '**Shotgun Proficiency: 100**' on his clipboard.

Grey grinned, and racked the shotgun against the wall, tossing the unused clips of ammo into the bin.

He continued like this all day, blowing Banshee mock-ups out of the sky with SPNKr rocket launchers, gunning down chipboard targets with LAAGs, and blowing up turrets with satchels of fragmentation grenades.

As the sky darkened through the slit windows in the armory, Sergeant Duncan reluctantly checked the box labeled '**Sniper Rifle Proficiency: 100**' and patted Grey on the back.

"Well Corporal, I've never seen anything like it. You passed every single test at 100 proficiency. No shot was off, no throw was untrue. Are you sure you ain't a SPARTAN?" he said, scratching his head in wonder.

Grey laughed. "No sir, I've just always been very good at war."

* * *

Captain Vance yawned. He had just got off an eighteen hour shift and he was exhausted. A frigate had docked, full of wounded men from some space battle. The ship itself didn't look too god either. Covie point defense lasers had burned through it's hull like a welder's torch through rice paper, and the whole ship had the appearance of grey swiss cheese.

Vance propped his feet up on his desk, pulling his lab coat up over his shoulders. Sighing deeply, he poured himself a glass of cognac from a bottle in his desk and swilled it around slowly, thinking of the kid he operated on first. He'd been an Archer missile operator, meaning he was down in the bowels of this frigate supervising the loading of these 50 foot long missiles into their tubes. When the lasers had hit the missile bay, the frigate was in the process of firing tubes A through F, so hundreds of live missiles detonated in their tubes, literally ripping the prow of the frigate apart. This kid had been in a crane or something, and was blown through three decks into the MAC gun control room. If he hadn't been in the crane, he would have just gooshed against the ceiling, but the armored pod of the crane, designed to be airtight in case the missile bay was breached, saved his life. The ship's captain said he was the only survivor from those Archer bays.

Vance shook his head to dispel the thoughts, and took a deep swig of the cognac. He felt at peace, which was why when the phone rang he fell backwards and hit his head on the wall, spilling cognac all over his lab coat and shattering the glass against the desk.

Vance swore over the spilled alcohol, and picked up the phone.

"Captain Vance. Yeah, I treated him. I recommended him for inactive duty due to severe plasma burns sustained in battle. I estimated that he would never be able to operate at full combat capacity due to those injuries. He pushed me to let him re-qualify on a weapons range. Mmm-hmm. He what? Well, in my professional medical opinion, he will still never be able to fully- yes…yes, I have time tomorrow. 0900 is fine."

Vance hung up the phone and shook his head in disbelief. Those idiots at REACHCom just didn't understand the implications that a plasma burn has on a man's combat capabilities! He looked down and remembered the spilled drink. Sighing, he withdrew another glass from his footlocker, and poured himself another drink.

* * *

The next day, Vance had totally forgotten about the phone conversation, choosing instead to focus on the immense hangover he possessed from consuming the entire cognac bottle in one sitting. Sitting in the mess hall, nursing his fifth cup of coffee and feeling relatively clear headed, he was approached by a doctor he'd never seen before. Odd, as he'd been on board the hospital ship _Mercy_ for eighteen months. Maybe he just got in, Vance thought to himself, as he buried his face in his mug.

The man strode toward him, and sat down in the seat directly across from him. "Doctor Vance? It's 0900." Vance gaped at the man like he had a third eye.

"Very good Doctor…"

"Oh! Doctor Jones please."

"Very good Doctor Jones. You pass the basic intelligence test."

Jones cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Vance, you said you'd meet with me at 0900."

Vance closed his eyes, struggling to remember anything from last night aside from the deep sorrow he felt when the bottle finally ran dry.

"Ohhh! Right. But why the getup? You're not a doctor, you're from the Department of-"

Jones clapped a hand over Vance's mouth and shushed him.

"Doctor, if you would be so kind as to shut the hell up until we board my prowler so we can talk in private."

Vance's head was swimming as Jones lead him away, smiling and nodding to other diners who had been eying them. Prowler? What the hell was going on here? Was he being kidnapped?

They walked down a corridor leading to the docking bays, and Vance attempted to hail a passing marine. The soldier took notice and ran over.

"Is something wrong Doctor?" he asked.

Jones pulled an M6C pistol out of his lab coat, and shot the marine with a tranquilizer dart.

"No." he muttered. "If you pull that shit again Vance, I'll have you court martialed."

"What?! You're just an MD, like I am! You can't have me court martialed!"

They had reached a bulkhead, and Jones waved his hand lazily over the biometric scanner, allowing him and Vance entrance. They walked down the short hall to the UNSC Prowler that was docked there. Jones mashed a red button on the wall of the ship, locking both the doors of the prowler and the bulkhead.

"Oh but I can. Allow me to introduce myself, for real this time. I am Lieutenant Owen Majors of the Office of Naval Intelligence, Sector Two."

Vance gaped at him. "You…you're a spook?"

"Yeah, I guess, if you want to use the terminology of the common soldier. I prefer the term 'undercover operative' and I am here to tell you that you will be branded a traitor by both ONI and the Admiralty Council and promptly executed. This man, this Corporal Grey, is not who you think he is."

Vance scoffed. "Well, then what the hell is he? A SPARTAN?"

Majors stared at him, one eyebrow cocked high.

Vance stared back. "What? Are you serious? Grey, a SPARTAN? It doesn't check out. First of all, where's his magic armor, his-"

"MJOLNIR" Majors said.

"Right right, MJOLNIR. Where's that? And second, what's he doing in a frontline Marine unit? Why is he out gallivanting with his augmented buddies?"

"There were some…problems…with his augmentation. He does not have the full combat capacity of a normal SPARTAN II, but I assure you, it is well above the average human soldier. We had him in the ODSTs for a while, but he was transferred out after an incident on Pegasi VII. An ODST light Colonel, Silva or something like that, got drunk and picked a fight with a marine who's life was saved by a SPARTAN. Aside from badmouthing the SPARTAN program in general, he put the kid in critical condition for a week. Gave him a desk job for the rest of the war. The only reason the kid wasn't killed is because Grey stepped in once he realized Silva was insulting him, albeit unknowingly. Silva got a bed right next to the kid, and was busted to Major. So, we decided that the ODSTs weren't exactly the best place for Grey, seeing as how questions were being raised. We transferred him to a marine battalion the next week." Majors paused and eyed the doctor to see how he was taking this.

"But you still didn't answer my question. Why isn't he in the armor?" Vance persisted.

"Actually, I did, you just didn't get it. He can't wear MJOLNIR armor, it would kill him. His augmentations did not set as well as the other SPARTAN's. But, Spartan 017 was perfectly capable of fighting, so we put him on the front lines as a marine. There." Majors explained.

"So this is why he passed all those exams. He was setting me up." Vance whispered.

"Yeah, you kind of got suckered into that one." Majors said, grinning.

"So, why are you telling me this?" Vance asked. "You could have put on a General's costume and ordered me to reinstate him, instead you came to me, and revealed Grey's life story to me, as well as your ONI status. Why?"

Majors stared him straight in the eye. "Because Vance. We have to put a clampdown on the status of our undercover SPARTANS. You saw something in Grey that made you suspicious, and we couldn't have you publishing a paper about it."

Majors turned to face the wall, and picked up a steel briefcase. He flicked the locks up, and opened it. Vance saw the case contained an M6D pistol. Majors took the gun out and pointed it at Vance's head.

"You understand right? In the name of humanity's security, you can't be allowed to live."

He pulled the trigger.


	5. Chapter 5: Oly Oly Oxen Free

Grey leaned back on his bunk. Dressed in a sleeveless tee shirt and a pair of greyBDU pants, he was all set catch a nap before his unit was shipped out to another planet. After that annoying reinstatement process he'd been put through, he was shipped out to a marine battalion as part of a standard replacement dump. It didn't take his platoon commander very long to notice he wasn't some wide eyed recruit fresh from basic, and put him in charge of Alpha squad, which had lost its Sergeant to a Jackal sniper. Nasty little bastards. Grey was quickly accepted by the vets of the squad, and during the first battle under his command, the entire squad performed like one well-oiled machine. It seemed that Grey had finally found a place he could be happy. He leaned back and sighed, content for the first time in a long while.

A rap at the door made him look up.

"Hey Grey?"

It was one of the replacements from Gamma Squad. He looked over and nodded, acknowledging the young man's presence.

"Yeah?"

"There's a man outside, says he needs to see you. Apparently you have different orders or something, I didn't catch it all, he was talking pretty fast and-"

Grey held up his hand and the Marine stopped talking.

"All right. I'll see him."

The private waved his hand and a tall man with closely shorn blonde hair stepped in. The private stepped out.

"Corporal Grey?"

"Yeah, that's me. Who are you?"

"My name is Majors. Lieutenant Owen Majors. I work for ONI, section two. I know of your past, and you are being called up to fight for the UNSC again."

"My past?"

"Yes, your past as a SPARTAN II. Don't play dumb with me soldier, I know you were a part of the original group of 90."

"I'm sorry sir, I don't know what you're talking about."

Majors scoffed. "Oh, for fucks sake, you're not honestly going to make me go through the whole damn process are you? An ONI badge really isn't enough for you?" he said, flipping his wallet out to reveal the ONI symbol, an obsidian eagle clutching a banner with the words _Semper Vigilans_, latin for Always Vigilant.

"_Honestly_ sir, I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about."

Cradling his head in his hands, Majors muttered to himself. "Jeez, Halsey sure did a good job on you didn't she?" Then, looking as though it greatly pained him, he walked up to Grey until their faces were less than an inch apart, and practically screamed the words, "Oly Oly Oxen Free!" in Grey's face.

Grey's feature's relaxed, he stepped back, and, extending his hand to shake the Lieutenant's, he said, "How can I help sir?"

* * *

ONI maintains a number of secret facilities around the galaxy, some ranging from small remote outposts, such as the temporary picket bases used by their operatives on Covenant controlled worlds, all the way up to an entire solar system that was stricken from the records centuries ago. This is ONI's stomping grounds, where new weapons are tested and the majority of new recruits trained and assigned. It is rumored that not even the Covenant knows of its existence.

This secret haven is where the small ONI prowler _Malleus_ was headed, carrying one very important passenger.

"Shakedown the engines and set a course for System X, Reaper." Majors said, speaking to the prowler's AI via his wrist-com. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

"Of course Lieutenant."

Grey, who was walking beside him, shot Majors a quizzical look.

"System X? A bit of a cliché isn't it?"

"Well yes, but think about it. Who's going to notice if there's an X dropped into a document somewhere. The common soldiery has enough trouble deciphering all of the coded jargon and nonsense that is spewed from computer's messaging systems, they're not going to notice a misplaced X here or there. But to an ONI undercover operative, it makes all the difference."

"Why?"

"It let's you know if the orders are breakable or not."

"Ah, of course, silly me." Grey said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "See, in the SPARTAN program, we were always taught that our superiors, especially the officers, knew better, and to disobey an order, _any_ order, was akin to…well, they never made that part clear. But it's bad."

Majors laughed, slapping Grey on the back. "Blind faith in your superiors is not always a good thing my friend."

Grey stared him in the eyes, and whispered, "Don't do that again. Sir."

Majors paused. "What? Lecture you on leadership?"

Grey shook his head. "No, touch me. They taught us more ways to kill a person unarmed than you could ever imagine. When I was eight, I favored neck snapping. It's quick, and knocks an enemy out of commission almost instantly. But by the time I was twelve or so I began to find a nice hard chop to the neck did wonders. It didn't kill them as often either."

Majors gulped, and ran his hand through his hair. He refused to be intimidated by this…this freak. A small voice in his head muttered, "Even a freak who enjoyed snapping grown men's necks at age eight?"

They strode down the hall, finally coming to a bulkhead with a bit of caution tape strung across it, warning them that there was nothing on the other side but space. Majors tore it off casually, and swung the door open. Grey, who was expecting to see a flash of black dribbled with stars before a swift and painful death overcame him and everyone on this level of the ship, instead saw more corridor. When he looked at Majors, the man said, without looking back,

"Keeps the more overeager cleaning crews away. No one wants a face full of vacuum in the morning. Or, at all really."

Grey had never been on an ONI prowler. He had never really wanted to frankly, there were horror stories told about what goes on in these things.

He walked down the short corridor toward what passed as the bridge on a ship of this size, and saw a faint red stain in the corner near the bulkhead he had just entered through.

"Is that blood?"

Majors glanced at it. "Was blood, now it's mostly disinfectant." He said nonchalantly, as if finding a large red blood stain in the corridor of a ship was an everyday occurrence.

Grey shrugged, and continued walking.

The prowler disengaged from the UNSC ship, and shot towards the stars. It moved a respectable distance away from the small fleet assembled there, and engaged it's Shaw-Fujikawa slipspace drive.

"We are now on an indirect course for System X." announced Reaper, the shipboard AI.

"Indirect?" Grey said quizzically.

"ONI requires all ships that are eventually headed for System X to make at least 10 random jumps before they arrive. So yeah, it could be a while."

Reaper chimed in. "Actually, I am making 12 slipspace jumps. Due to us being so close to covenant controlled territory, ONI directive 32/X-Omega commands that we make an extra 20 of the number of jumps we would normally make, rounding up."

Grey tuned out the AI after a while, letting him natter about, "Galaxy-wide security protocols" or "Lambda security clearance." He leaned back and closed his eyes.

This was going to be a long trip.


	6. Chapter 6: Coup D'etat

The prowler emerged from slipspace a few weeks after it had left the hospital station, and Grey got his first look at where he was. It was a small system, with the focal point being a large gaseous planet reminiscent of Saturn with too many moons orbiting a blue sun. He could see an orbital defense grid surrounding the planet that rivaled the one around Earth; dozens of super-MACs floating in space, watchful of the incoming ships. They were flying toward one of the MAC stations, and Majors glanced back at him from the pilot's couch to gauge his reaction. Grey tried to keep his facial expressions neutral, but he could not. How could ONI have hidden this from them for so long? A perfectly viable system, bristling with defenses, with enough space for most of the Inner Colonies to relocate, and they were using it for R&D? He felt his fists clenching, and his right hand slowly came to rest on his hip holster. Majors shot him a worried expression, and asked,

"You okay there Corporal?"

Grey feigned a headache, and nodded, his forehead in his palm. "Yes sir, my head just hurts a bit."

"Yeah, that happens to some people during slipspace travel. I'll have the docs onboard the _Chicago_ draw you some pain meds." He turned his attention back to the controls, and eased the prowler towards the station, squeezing the joystick softly to fire the engine in controlled bursts. The radio crackled, and a static laced voice spoke to the cabin.

"ONI Prowler _Malleus_, you have a priority one path to hanger seven. Please proceed along the given coordinates and dock in good time."

Majors tapped the boom mike taped to his throat and responded, "Thank you control, _Malleus _on route to hanger seven via flight path six-two-niner-zero. See you in a few."

Grey watched the station grow larger through the forward window, as Majors expertly maneuvered the shuttle into the hanger. Huge Titanium-A blast doors slid aside noiselessly in the vacuum as the craft drifted into the hanger. Majors flipped a switch, and the landing gear deployed from the prowler's underbelly with a hydraulic hiss. Ground crew ran to the ship, and Majors stood, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Another smooth landing eh?" he said, smiling. "Let's go, General Embry is waiting."

Grey nodded, muttering. "Just get me a gun." As he followed Majors out the rear hatch, down the ramp. They walked across the hanger, and Grey watched the ground crew attaching hoses as thick as a warthog to the craft's bottom. They stepped through a hatch into a speedlifter, and Beethoven's 3rd Symphony played softly in the background as the lifter shot towards the station's peak. Majors seemed to have lost much of his bravado, and was doing his best to avoid eye contact with the young SPARTAN. Grey hummed along to the music, refusing to betray his emotions to such a man, and tapped his thumbs against the wall of the lifter, waiting patiently for it to reach the top. Arriving at it's destination, the lifter pinged softly and the doors slid open. Grey stepped out into an oak paneled room sparsely populated with antique tables and chairs. One of the chairs was occupied, and Grey stared unblinkingly into the face of General Embry, commander of this massive installation, and one of ONI's top generals. Embry sat up to shake his hand, but Grey shook his head and kept his hand firmly at his side. Eyeing him suspiciously, he whispered into Major's ear,

"I thought you said this one was trained?"

"He is sir, I don't know what's going on."

Grey, who had thrown on some baggy cargo pants, a plain white t-shirt, and a loose BDU jacket, had never been searched at any point upon boarding the ONI prowler. He guessed they had assumed that a SPARTAN wouldn't try anything, but they were wrong. He pulled the M6C magnum pistol out of his jacket, snapping it up to the General's forehead. The weapon clicked as it chambered a round, and Grey squeezed the trigger before anyone could react. The pistol roared, and Embry's brains sprayed across the antique conference table, staining it irreparably.

"Hello General." He said, a cold malice in his voice.

Majors dropped his arm to his side, fumbling with the straps on his own sidearm's holster, but he had not cleared leather before a three round spread tore through his body, shredding his torso and shaving the top of his head off. He fell to the top of the ground, lifelessly, gun falling uselessly from his dead hand. Grey grinned wryly, and snapped the man's pistol up, jamming it into an oversized pants pocket. He then turned around, walked back to the lifter, and punched the button labeled "Armory".

The metal box shot down at surprising speed, propelling Grey where he needed to go. Arriving at the armory mere minutes after he had relieved General Embry and Lieutenant Majors of their lives, he was now perusing the _Chicago's_ weapons selection, and liking what he was seeing. Suits of armor, both marine and ODST, hung in neat racks on the walls, surrounded by the best killing machines the UNSC had to offer, including prototype and out of circulation weapons not approved for use in the field. Like a kid in a candy store, Grey grabbed a bit of everything, selecting an M6D pistol, battle rifle, shotgun, and twin SMGs, as well as plenty of grenades, for his last stand. Walking over to one of the walls, he mashed his hand against a security pad, and watched as it turned green, allowing him access to the MJOLNIR armor room. Under the watchful eyes of two oblivious marines, and several techs, Grey walked right in and demanded to be suited up in the latest Mark of armor. They scrambled to complete his request, wheeling out a Mark VI suit and even providing him with mag clips to stick the weapons to the armor, so he could keep his hands free. Grey thanked everyone in the room kindly, and then shot them all in the head. Before the last body had dropped to the floor, he was gone, headed back to the lift, and his ultimate destination; the bridge of the _Chicago_.

* * *

Vice Admiral Jenkins leaned back in his command chair and sighed. As usual, all was quiet. He had only had a single boarding query, and that had gone through without a hitch. Looked like his mandatory two hours on the bridge would soon be up, and then his XO could take over and he could go back to his stateroom and sleep. Just fifteen more minutes…

"Sir, a SPARTAN is requesting permission to come aboard." His comms officer yelled.

"Well, let him in." Jenkins sighed, knowing his stay would most likely be prolonged.

A figure in olive green armor walked in, armed to the teeth with weapons. Jenkins shivered, knowing that that one man could kill him, the guard marines, and every single crewmember without so much as batting an eyelash if he so chose.

"Soldier, welcome to the bridge of the _Chicago_. I'll have to ask you to leave your weapons outside, this is a secure-"

A sharp _bang _cut off the end of his sentence, and the SPARTAN lowered his smoking pistol. Four more bangs quickly followed, and the four marines on deck fell dead as well. The armored figure walked up to the AI console, yanked its occupant out and ground its chip into dust between two hands, leaving the bridge totally isolated from the rest of the station.

"Now, listen up, cause I've got a few orders for you." The SPARTAN growled.

Now that Grey had their attention, he would turn the massive firepower of the _Chicago _against the other ships in orbit around this pristine system. Starting with the big ones.

"Gunnery control, target that supercarrier right there." He said, pointing an armor sheathed finger at a large blip on the tactical display. The officer on deck in the gunnery pit stared up at him defiantly, and Grey rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, do we have to do this the hard way? I have a lot of bullets, you know." He said, calmly drawing his pistol, aiming it at the Lieutenant's head and firing all in one fluid motion. The man's head snapped back, a crimson shower covering the nearby consoles, and Grey waved the gun around for effect.

"All right? Do you get me? I'm not fucking around!!!" He fired a few shots into the air to make sure they understood, and smiled behind his visor as he saw the junior gunnery crew frantically working to carry out his orders.

The XO stood cowering by his console, his lips quivering. When Grey approached him, he managed to get out the words,

"This…this is a mutiny!"

Grey picked him up with one hand, fingers wrapped tight around his neck. "Oh no my friend, mutiny is when the crew of a ship decides to rebel. There really isn't a word for what's going on right now, _is there?!?!_" He squeezed tighter, accentuating the last two words. When the man was on the edge of life, and all was fuzzy and black, the last thing he heard was Grey's taunting voice saying,

"I prefer the term, "Coup D'ètat" actually…"


End file.
